The Looking Glass
by MischievousRose
Summary: "To enter the world within the looking glass is to go through a world of evil and unreality." A story defining "star-crossed lovers" in another level. Jelsa.
1. Prologue

_**THE LOOKING GLASS**_

**Hi everyone~**

**Ok, so I have a minor request I want to ask of you before you guys read, it isn't much, I mean, all I ask is for you to please read the writer's note at the end of this chapter. Please? It will mean a lot to me. ^^ Thanks in advance!**

**Disclaimer: I waive all rights in claiming both Frozen and RoTG as mine. If it were, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction, I'll be making movie-scripts for my OTPs.**

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_~May the fortress be with you~_

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_**Prologue**_

Mirrors had long been believed to contain men's evil, entrapping it within the thin space between the looking glass and it's frame, and were often depicted as the gate between two parallel universe—one of good and the other of evil. The good, obviously, belonging in this side of the mirror where real people with real personalities dwell while the other side held our counterparts, an imitation of us, holding our inner demons, our vanity, our greed—_our most loathsome self_.

The other side of the mirror, we believed, was a horrid, wretched place teeming with evil and nothing but the foulest and ugliest of all creatures, thus, to break a mirror is to let evil escape.

Queen Elsa hoped that was the case.

But no, fate had to be so cruel because it just had to be like that—_a myth._

It would have been better if it was true, and then she wouldn't have to feel so torn inside.

She wouldn't have known him. She wouldn't have fallen in love with Jack Frost.

But how could she not when he was anything but evil?

How could she call him vile and horrid when he was sweet and kind and charming and playful?

How could she call him ugly and wretched when that smooth alabaster skin of his shone so alluringly in a soft glow akin to that of the moon's, when his bluish lips would form that deceptive smirk and when his eyes, as blue and as clear as aquamarine quartz, would sparkle so brilliantly with that childish glint?

How could she call him a curse when he brought her good luck?

How is he a nightmare when his sultry baritone voice would lull her into pleasant sleep?

And how could she ever call him a fiend when he became her only friend?

Then again, perhaps she was going crazy; perhaps she had long gone mad from her loneliness, perhaps she's finally fed up with feeling so alone and isolated, her imagination started making things up.

But that wasn't the case, she knows so for she had slapped herself countless of times just to secure herself that her sanity still exists, and now she's utterly wretched.

Somewhere out there, Jack Frost exists, but time was a fickle thing, for she belonged in the past and he in the future.

What could she do to be together with him?

Oh how she wished the myths were true, then she would've just broken her mirror and the two of them could be together.

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_~May the fortress be with you~_

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_**Writer's Nook:**_

**Okay…so uh…here goes nothing.**

**This short story was written for and dedicated to a very dear friend of mine; **_**Karen-nee**_**, but you probably know her as **_**windstruck07**_**, the writer of **_**Child of the Winter Solstice**_** and **_**Totentanz**_**. She's awesome, isn't she? Well, I'm proud to say that she's my virtual older sister, a family not related by blood, my sister from another place and another set of parents…and she means a lot to me in a purely platonic way. She's helped me a lot too by providing me good counsel and sharing to me her wisdom. She was the one that persuaded me to come back here and share my stories again even though I was extremely hesitant because I had a run-in with a rather arrogant reader from another site, brashly professing her irritation at the flow of my story while being annoyingly ignorant of the notes I left in every chapter, detailing to them and explaining to them why it was like that. To cut it short, I was hurt,**_** badly**_** and I started developing a fear of sharing what I wrote (and I started hating ignorant readers too, but I'm **_**nearly**_** over that now), I didn't know how Karen-nee did it, but I was finally persuaded, leading me to publish **_**Moonlit Night**_** months before. **

**That was the first step.**

**And so, as a sign of my heartfelt gratitude, I decided to make a Jelsa fiction based on Karen-nee's type of genres and themes but I don't know if I'm getting it right though, nevertheless, I hope she'll like this.**

**To Karen-nee, thanks a lot for being here for me and everything. Please see through my progress and help me improve myself more as both a person and a writer.**

**Thank you to the Fortress too. You guys are the best!**

**And also, thank you for the readers who dropped by here and gave this the time of their day. Thanks again. ^^  
**

**Reviews aren't really a must, but they're a good source of motivation. Karen-nee, I hope you'll help me improve this time around too. **

**Rose**


	2. 1st Glass Shard

**The Looking Glass**

**Disclaimer: I don't own RoTG and Frozen, because if I did, then, I'll be filthy rich.**

_~May the fortress be with you~_

_There was a reason that she was so romantic about the moon._

_It never asked her questions, or begged for the answers,_

_Nor did she ever have to prove herself to it._

_It was always just there—breathing, shining,_

_And in ways most humans can't understand: Listening._

—_Christopher Poindexter_

**First Glass Shard:**_** Moonchild.**_

_A lone figure stood solemnly near the edge of the cliff, his shoulders squared and his back facing her. He was enclosed within a pearly halo of white, an effect created by the moon, casting an unearthly illusion that made him look akin to one of those celestial beings people call an angel._

_It was weird, to say the least, to dream of a boy she hadn't known or seen before. _

_But he did look quite...familiar...albeit in a dé jâ vú sort of way._

_Although what struck her wasn't just the boy but the very place he was in._

_They were by the edge of a cliff, overlooking a city that seemed to have been touched by the stars themselves. The kingdom's lights, so different from the dull yellow bulbs back in Arendelle, stretched widely towards the horizon, engaging themselves in what seemed like an endless dance of colors. They flickered to and fro in energetic blitz as they streamed one after the other, much like a river fluidly flowing towards a brook. Ironically though, she thought, the brilliant diamonds that usually decked the heavens were scarce and it made her wonder what kind of futuristic place her silly mind had suddenly conjured. Everything looked busy…and rushed, but it was beautiful nonetheless._

_Back in Arendelle, the stars would have stretched so far and wide across the skies, peeking enigmatically behind the purplish gray clouds as they surrounded the moon. It created the perfect canvas to gawk at. And this scene before her obviously didn't come from her world._

_A distressed sigh snapped her out of her thoughts and brought her attention back to the boy…wait, no, _man,_ as he moved, shifting his weight on another foot. He swung a crooked wooden stick to his side. She saw him cock his head slightly towards the said item and (she didn't know how she knew) threw the moon an inquisitive stare._

_He was lonely._

_She could feel it._

_Everything about him screamed that he was lonely._

_It just sort of radiated naturally from him._

_And she… _she wanted to comfort him_._

_Tentatively and experimentally, she took small dainty steps towards him, an act that made it obvious and apparent how afraid she was to be seen or noticed knowing that she was intruding on a private moment. But her desire to let him know that he was not the only one feeling that way overpowered her hesitation and gave her the courage to act upon her whim—although she had no idea why her suddenly emphatic heart would want to comfort a stranger in a dream._

_Maybe this guy was the personification of her own personal loneliness._

_Maybe that was the reason why she wanted to reach out to him._

_Or maybe she just didn't want anyone to be in the company of that sick elusive demon that would sadistically claw away at anyone's heart—loneliness._

"_Until when will I live like this?" She heard him speak, surprising her and shaking her out of her stupor, effectively halting her steps. His baritone voice was rich and deep, an unnerving contrast to his youthful countenance, and it startled her how she found it so alluring and sweet and…_musical_ yet at the same time, perplexed at the way it made her heart ache with the way it sounded so morosely bleak._

_Was it even normal for a voice to sound that way?_

_It was an entrancing mix of beauty and sorrow._

_Pushing her thoughts aside; she moved closer to his side, feeling simultaneously relieved yet disappointed when she realized that he couldn't see, hear or even feel her presence. She was basically invisible and she felt like she didn't exist at all._

_That thought scorned her but she figured that it was fine and that it was a baseless feeling. This was only a dream anyway._

_She leaned in close—so close, that if only she was physically present in that world (his world), then he would feel her minty breath fanning the contours of his jaw and, perhaps, be intoxicated by the aromatic scent of both peppermint and vanilla that had constantly clung to her skin._

_Then she stopped, a mere few inches away to scrutinize his looks._

_The first thing she looked at was his eyes and she noted, with a pang of both awe and envy, how lightly blue they were and how they sublimely reflected the face of the moon in a way that's hard to replicate. They looked so beautiful—too beautiful, that she could feel herself getting sucked in that abysmal pit of crystal and ice, but as beautiful as they were, they were equally haunting as well, for in those eyes, she found familiarity in them._

_It was the same pair of orbs she sees whenever she peers through her own vanity mirror._

_They were sad and hollow, _and for the life of her_, she couldn't fathom how someone as handsome as him could look so impossibly shattered and alone._

_Surely he had friends and, at the very least, _someone_ he could openly and comfortably confide with._

_After all, he seems to be the endearingly mischievous kind; the type that would annoy and irritate people to no end with his knacks and pranks and obnoxious jokes but still be able to coax them into liking him and even leave them craving for his company whenever he's absent._

"_I don't like being alone." He spoke to no one in particular though his eyes were still transfixed on the moon. She saw his fist clench tightly around his staff, and she fought the urge to rest hers on top of his with the silly urge and attempt to comfort him, she was basically nonexistent in this world, would he even _sense_ her? _

_The thought was for naught because she knew that it would only be futile. _

"_I only want a friend, you know?" She flinched, knowing the feeling all too well, and then yelped when he moved and swung his staff to the other side, nearly hitting her on the face. It made her jump a few steps back with a nearly comical look and a hand resting on top of her chest. _

_That surprised her._

_He sighed, frustrated and confused, as he ran his free hand through his silvery white locks and looked down, almost shamefully, with his gaze cast upon a spot where her feet was. His brows drew together as he thought, and she was nearly tempted to move into another place because she was feeling a bit self-conscious—but then she realized that he _can't_ see her, so she firmly planted her feet despite the compelling urge to move and hide._

_He tore his gaze away as he started to pace around, swinging his staff callously across his shoulders as he muttered on, "Don't get me wrong," he paused, briefly glancing upwards, "The guardians are a good company and all." He continued to pace erratically that she slowly found herself stepping farther and farther away from him in order to give him more room. "But they're busy with their respective jobs and I don't feel comfortable in confiding with anything non-guardian related stuff with them." He paused and stared at the moon with a look that Elsa could vaguely interpret as 'you-know-what-I-mean-look' before it got replaced with an expression similar to that of hope._

_When nothing happened, he planted his staff to the ground and shook his head, "Forget it." He said, bitterness with a mild hint of accusation lacing his voice, "Sometimes I wonder if you even listen." He leaned on his staff with a dejected look plastered all over his face._

_If Elsa was holding back before, her self-restraint had now flown into the cliff as she unknowingly muttered an, "I know how you feel." before her hands flew to cover her mouth, her eyes wide open with shock._

_She was not supposed to say that._

_And he was not supposed to hear her._

_His eyes stared at her general direction with an expression that reflected hers; surprise and unbelief. Tentatively, he pulled his staff from the ground and took small, measured steps towards her, "Is someone out there?" He called out._

_She didn't answer._

_He shook his head, even rolling his eyes for his presumed stupidity, dismissing the voice he heard ringing within the vicinity a while ago to be a figment of his imagination. He was too lonely that he was starting to imagine things. He tossed his staff to the grassy field and, with a sigh, he opened his palms a shoulder's width apart as he conjured a bunny made out of frost. He allowed it to wander around him, watching it as it hopped in the air with jovial glee with melancholic fondness. The bunny came close to him, shimmering and sparkling like glitters as it reflected the light of the moon, nudging his chin with its cute furry nose as if inquiring him what was wrong._

_He chuckled as he playfully swatted it away, conjuring another frost bunny out of thin air and allowing the two of them to run around._

_She widened her eyes at the display of his abilities._

_He was just like her and her heart hammered with delight at the thought._

_Perhaps they truly were one and the same. Perhaps he was the embodiment of her animus, the masculine persona she hid inside and never truly developed._

_But perhaps, this was another person, existing in a parallel universe she never knew of._

_Or perhaps he was existing right now, and maybe, just maybe, they could see each other in her world and then she'll never be truly alone again because she'll have someone to confide with._

_Thrilled at the prospect of a million possibilities , she created a floral snowflake, about a quarter of a palm in size, "This is for you to know," She whispered, flicking her wrist in such a way to guide the snowflake towards him, "that you are not alone."_

_Then she woke_ _up._

_**-x-**_

Jack thought it was strange how a ridiculously big snowflake drifted around him and magically dissipated into a sparkle of thin glitters and snow—and thought it even _more_ strange when he thought he saw an outline of a slender woman from where it came from. Her form was ghastly and eerily translucent, making it such that he could still _see_ through her form as if she was a ghost of some sort. It was like his mind was playing tricks on him...or maybe it really was a ghost because when he blinked, she was gone.

_What in the world was that?_ He thought with an incredulous look on his face. In all 127 years of his guardian life spent leisurely on this cliff (since it was 127 years ago when he discovered this cliff), this was the first time he thought the place was spooked.

And as if to affirm his thoughts, the wind picked up its pace, bending leaves and flowers that made up the meadow, and shaking trees as it went by. He would've shivered if he was bothered by the cold, which in this case, he wasn't.

In a distance, he could hear a wolf howl to the moon and an owl swiftly passed by him carrying its kill. The delicate frosted bunnies, which were once happily frolicking in the air, perked their cute little ears as if sensing danger and hastily went to him and promptly disappeared, dissipating in a way that was very similar to the snowflake—a sparkle of glitters and snow.

He glared in accusation at the celestial body that glowed up above knowing for certain that if there was anyone else capable of playing tricks on him, it was the Man in the Moon himself, "Haha, Manny," He muttered dryly with a sardonic expression on his face. He threw his hands up in exasperation with the intent of making a full blown tirade of whatever it was he was going to say, "Nice joke you got there." He waved his hands exaggeratedly in front, a scowl on his face, as he twisted his body so that he was now facing the thick foliage of trees. If he was alive and breathing, the color of his face would've been an overly healthy shade of red. "I would've cowered if I wasn't a _spirit_—" His sentence got cut short when he noticed a silhouette of a house concealed in the far distance, situated in between trunks and branches of trees, that he had _never_ seen before, "What is that?"

_**-x-**_

Who was that guy?

Where was that place?

What did her dream mean?

All those questions bugged her thoughts, irking her yet captivating her at the same time, pulling her with a strong hold as she wracked her brain for any sort of logical explanation. It felt like a very annoying pet peeve and Elsa couldn't help but roll her eyes as she detached her cheek from the gloved palm that was cupping it. Her left hand was holding a legal document in place, her right elbow ungracefully propped on the table while her right hand fiddled with her pen, twirling it into the air and carefully trying not to splatter any ink on any of the important documents. She would be utterly damned if she did.

But it was really strange. She rarely had dreams and even if she did, there was a major chance that she would forget it the moment she woke up regardless if it was the greatest dream she could have ever experience or the most mortifying nightmare ever to haunt her in her sleep. It was a self-defense mechanism that she unknowingly developed during her childhood days when she'd rather lock herself up in her room and save the world from herself than risking the chance of freezing the entire kingdom due to her powers going haywire.

When your greatest fear tended to cloud your thoughts and even haunt your dreams, forgetting it the moment you wake up was the best kind of solution there ever was.

The thought was quite ironic, though, simply because she _had_ frozen the entire kingdom and it _was_ due to her powers going haywire.

It was also kind of funny how her means of avoiding it became inadvertently futile.

It wasn't the most pleasant memory she'd ever had (she didn't have much, to be honest, her life was rather dull, considering the fact that she _did_ isolate herself and cut off contact from all of humanity—save for her parents and the maids that came and left) but it was all behind her now.

She hoped.

"ELSA!"

Said person yelped, sitting up straight and slamming her hands down on the furnished wooden table with a loud bang. The pen that she was _so_ careful in holding had clumsily toppled onto the table, perching on top of the documents in complete disarray like an arrogant, saucy, little prick; its thick black ink splattered callously all over the piles of papers and doing exactly what she hoped it _wouldn't_ do. If the darned thing had an expression, Elsa was sure it would look unbearably smug.

That thought didn't stop her eyes from widening though, simply because she did not know what else to do.

Then she inwardly cringed while outwardly sighing in surrender knowing that there was nothing else she could do to reverse the effects. What happened already happened and there was no use acting all mad and dramatic at something that cannot be undone. That was like crying over spilled milk—completely useless and unhelpful.

Still, she stared at the mess dumbly.

"What are you doing?" A voice, whom she identified as her sister's, sang, which was then followed by a rhythmic pattern of heels against marble floor, being muffled briefly by the broad, elaborate carpet shipped from the west, as she crossed the room before a pair of delicate hands landed on her shoulders, "Ooh, messy." was the intruder's quick commentary. She felt her sister peer over her shoulder, her shadow looming over her.

Elsa couldn't help but roll her eyes, "It's not so obvious now, is it, Anna?" She quipped with dry, sarcastic humor dripping generously allover her tone before she sighed in defeat. She rocked her wrist against her forehead with the hopes to numb the dull, throbbing headache she was sure that was bound to happen.

"This doesn't usually happen." Anna, rather unhelpfully, remarked as she flittered away from Elsa to inspect the damage of the ink. She pulled the paper close to her face as she tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes scanning across the document with rare concentration.

Elsa watched her sister do her thing, not really minding whatever help she could offer. They had gotten closer through the quick span of time and it was kind of a shame to think that she had sacrificed her time fearing instead of facing it—she could have spent those times productively by bonding with Anna. Isolating herself never really helped much anyway. Her lips curled into a bitter smile.

To her surprise, Anna furiously tore up the said document with a huge scowl, apathetically ignoring the mess it created on the otherwise pristine floor.

Elsa jumped from her seat to stop her sister from whatever it was she was doing, but found that she was a second too late. "Anna!" She nearly hissed, "What did you just do?"

The younger girl gave her a non-committal side-ward glance, "Saving you from your own demise." She retorted with an arrogant huff. Placing both palms on her hips, her gaze softened as she faced the queen, "Elsa, what's wrong?" she asked, her tone laced with evident concern and worry, "You nearly agreed to resume trade negotiations with Weselton _and_ approve of the pardon of Prince Hans from the Southern Isles."

It made Elsa stop, her brows drawing together with confusion. She did? But when did she...? She didn't remember doing or reading any of that. Her frown deepened. "Don't be ridiculous. Those documents couldn't have been that." She snorted as she ducked down, rearranging the clutter of torn paper into their proper places like one would do with a giant jigsaw puzzle. She continued doing such until the printed words were coherent enough for her to decipher—and then she stopped with a groan.

Anna was right.

"This is not you. What's bothering you?" The said person asked.

She sucked in a breath.

It was the dream. It was bothering her more than necessary.

It bothered her to the point that it interfered with her usual routinely duties.

But she couldn't really say such a trivial matter to her sister, could she? It's not even important.

Stupid enigmatic guy from the dream. Who gave him the right to trespass her thoughts anyway?

Then again, he _was _most probably merely a figment of her own imagination, so why bother?

Biting her lip, she mentally debated with what to reply. In the end, she settled with a curt, "Nothing, Anna. Don't worry too much." Casually dismissing her younger sister before she went off to clean her desk and resume her work, but not before gathering the clutter and throwing it inside the trash bin. What she didn't notice, however, was the flicker of fear and hurt that went across her younger sister's features.

Anna knew better than to let her fear get the best of her, she also knew that it was probably nothing, but the kind of dismissive tone Elsa used reminded her so much of her childhood; when she was out meeting doors upon her face and where hours of pleading and begging won't convince her sister to come out. She didn't like that, "Elsa..." She hesitated for a bit as a flicker of a memory crossed her mind. Her breath heaved and so she forced it to even out, glad that the older of the two didn't notice, "Maybe you're tired. You should rest." _Trust in me, please._ She wanted to say, but couldn't. She knew that her sister trusted her and whatever it was that was bothering her must have been a trivial matter—or so that was what she's telling herself.

But that dismissive tone...

She almost frowned. No one could judge her if she was paranoid at the thought of being pushed away again.

Old scars still last, she supposed, but she was nonetheless thankful that the wounds have healed.

And that she has her sister again.

Elsa glanced from her documents and formed a grateful smile, "Thank you for your concern, Anna, but I'm fine." She tried to assure her before her eyes dropped to resume whatever she was doing. "And it really was nothing. Just some troublesome dream. You worry too much."

Anna bit the insides of her cheeks as her eyes, a carbon copy of her sister's, scrutinized the older girl. She seemed genuine, so she concluded that Elsa wasn't lying about the troublesome dream part.

But she doubted it was nothing if the glazed over look her sister spoke anything.

_**-x-**_

The sight of her bed's wooden canopy greeted her eyes; her gaze seemingly fixed on the extravagant designs that were carved into the mahogany wood.

But her focus went past the elaborate floral swirls and golden lining above her head and onto a place way far off from the vicinity of her room and out of the context of her reality.

She was currently lying on her bed, her back supported by the soft mattresses given to her by a delegate from a foreign country. It was a gift given out of noble courtesy—or to get in her good graces, she wasn't quite sure. But no matter, those trivial thoughts didn't really weigh much in her head, rather, she was more irked by the fact that she, _the queen_, also known as the _prime monarch_ in her kingdom was..._stuck_...in the confines of her own private chamber. Although she was quite impressed by her younger sister's capability to impose authority over the castle staff, she couldn't help but feel flabbergasted at the fact that it actually _overruled _her own authority. Her sister, caring as she was, only wanted what was best for her, that much she understood. But Elsa was queen, and she didn't like feeling like a useless damsel-in-distress. She needed to govern her kingdom properly because she didn't like the idea of disappointing her people—or her parents up in heaven.

What would the villagers say when they would learn that their queen was resting when she could have done _something _for the betterment of the kingdom?

Though, to be frank, she _was_ causing a bit of a havoc earlier. _But _in her defense, it wasn't as major as freezing the entire kingdom twice over.

She inwardly winced, still not totally comfortable with her sin—or the idea that they actually forgave her.

Still, a few minor mishaps shouldn't have been _that_ worrisome enough for Anna to lose her cool and say, "That's it! Into your room missy! You need to rest." She said it with a small puppy-like growl too and a matching determined face, barking out orders to the maids to actually drag her older sister's undignified person into her quarters.

So maybe she _almost_ approved of the documents she wasn't supposed to approve and _almost _dumped the important letters coming from Corona, DunBroch and Berk who were important allies of Arendelle. She _might _have messed up the dates of the supposed events happening next week to commemorate the Great Thaw and maybe even said to add pepper on a cake because she thought the servant was showing her the entree, not the dessert...and _maybe_ the list still continued before she was placed on what she now deemed as a more restricted version of house arrest.

Okay... She might have done _more_ than a _bit_ of havoc and she may deserve this.

But in her defense, and this was totally legit and not petty at all, she was _bothered_. She was bothered by his loneliness, the way his eyes glimmered with a small flame of hope only for it to die a few moments later. The way his voice sounded so _so desperate _and _beseeching _as he called out to the moon. The way he tried so hard to keep his smile on his face and make himself happy knowing that by the end of the day, his façade would crash down like a humorless waterfall at the realization that he was still alone.

Most especially, she was bothered by the way he was so alike her.

He was like her mirror.

And it bothered her.

She sighed when she realized that she was thinking about it again. She averted her gaze to look at the windows and idly watched the beams created by the setting sun stream into her room. She looked intently as it illuminated the cold marble floor and its elegant Nordic patterns, taking any possible form of distraction as an opportunity to escape from her thoughts.

It was seriously bothering her, _and she needed to stop._

Sighing once again, for the nth time that day, she turned on her side so that her entire body was facing the window. The bed creaked as she moved, and there was a soft rustle of the blankets as she adjusted the latter so that it would cover her entire frame. Trying to get comfortable, she slipped her hand underneath her downy pillow, surprise flitting across her features when her fingers came in contact with something cold and metallic. Curios, she sat up and pulled the thing out, her face slowly morphing from befuddlement to that of acknowledgment.

_**-x-**_

The house looked incredibly old and creepy, like something that came fresh out of a horror scene, but despite its rather..._peculiar _appearance, it was able to induce an aura of mystique and a bit of fantasy. Because even if it looked like something that came straight out of Pitch's lair, it also looked quite as mythical as the one people would read in the fairytales. The entire structure itself reminded him of the gone times way before the British Empire came to rise (though not as old) resembling that of a peasant's cottage in the late Middle Ages. It probably was a cabin used for quite some time, a hundred years ago or so, before it was abandoned. It was nearly covered with moss, the wooden planks that served as the walls were currently rotting with decay, and the faded red stone bricks that served as the pillar had fern-like leaves sprouting from its crevices. Vines had grown from the ground, on what he assumed to be an old plant box, and it gracefully rose up in interwoven streaks of different flora, slithering across the moss to spread on the rotten thatched roof.

He squinted his eyes at the sight as his grip tightened around his shepherd's staff. The early telltale signs of dusk had slowly settled in, signifying the near end of twilight as it slowly descends into midnight. The city was still bustling before he left, but the majority of the lights should be off by now as the civilians succumbed to sleep. The moon seemed to shine its brightest. Its light glazing through the air as it glowed like an iridescent mother-of-pearl amid the clutter of sparkling diamonds. It seemed persistent too, kind of determined in a way he couldn't really explain...it was as if it was _talking_ to him, in a way that he could never quite comprehend, urging him to follow the narrow dirt path that would inevitably lead him to the entrance of the cottage.

He never heard words, only the soft rustle of the leaves as the breeze blew by, but he knew that there was something in there he needed to find.

He just didn't know what...or why.

But if he were to give a reason, he would've had blamed it on the moon.

He walked closer, his curiosity getting the best of him, as his mind wondered a thousand miles away. Could there be something..._someone_ waiting for him in there? Another spirit perhaps? Or maybe another mythical creature he could go on adventures with? His heart thrilled at the thought of possibly meeting a friend or even a companion he could share his guardian years with.

_Then he'll never be alone._

His bare feet could feel the moistness of the dewy earth as the dead leaves crunched in agony underneath his step. The smooth, uneven surfaces of the random pebbles littered across the ground made wonders as it massaged the calloused skin of the soles of his foot. It honestly wasn't unusual for Jack to see those kind of houses—those old abandoned ones ranging from the impoverished to the grand—given that he did travel a lot, but there was something quite _different_ about this one.

He breathed, his chest rising and falling into a steady rhythm as he transferred his staff from his right hand to his left, the former surging forward; palm open and flat against the old wooden door. He pushed it quite a bit more to widen the space and he listened as it creaked in protest.

The sight that greeted him made him squeak and jump approximately two feet high off the floor. Grunting at his own reflex, he frowned. He wasn't the jumpy type nor was he a frightful one. He was mostly fearless (usually in the most stupid and fun-loving sense) however, anyone with a perfect vision would understand.

Whoever owned the cottage surely had a distinct sense of humor—and a rather sadistic one at that.

The first thing that met his gaze were the pointy canines of a well-preserved bear. Most of its skin was intact and covered with dust but half its face was torn off, revealing the stuffing and the edges of its decaying skin. It lacked bones and its stance were only held up together by a strong wire within, making its poise look like it was about to attack; it bared its teeth and paws were raised. Jack could distinctly hear a faint angry roar resounding from within his head, imagining a scenario in which he had accidentally dug his own grave.

But, even if he knew it was inanimate, it didn't make it look less intimidating—if anything, the way it withered with age intensified. And it looked mighty horrible too.

Glancing around, he realized that it wasn't the only preserved animal in the room. Above the small fireplace, the head of a handsome stag was mounted, eyes fierce and looking forward, snout raised, and antlers high with dignity. Beside it was a mounted head of a female doe, looking bashful and timid beside its male counterpart.

It was a trophy house, he presumed. A wealthy noble with a fondness of hunting must've used this place during various hunting seasons to display his game. There were mountain lions, foxes and ferrets too. A variety of mammals, birds, and reptiles were magnificently displayed as well.

And while some of the trophies had faded through age, others were still able to maintain the vibrancy of their furs or feathers, looking very much alive despite its stillness.

And it confused him, what could be in here that he needed to find? Surely it cannot be those animals. Unless if the Man in the Moon would bring them back to life, he doubted they could keep him company, and even if they _would _be brought back to life, being accompanied by zombie animals wasn't a thrilling thought—and definitely not child friendly either. He was a guardian for goodness sakes! Kids would cry seeing that bear!

"Okay, Manny, joke's over." He said, rather drily, to no one in particular, "What is it that you want me to find in here?" His question hung in the room, only to be met with silence in return.

When he finally resigned himself that perhaps he was just looking too into it into ordinary things, something glimmered on the table, and he can't help but feel drawn towards it.

What can he say? He knew that curiosity killed the cat.

But he also knew that satisfaction brought it back.

_**-x-**_

Elsa watched the mirror with utmost fascination. It looked extremely fancy and foreign, something that no folk from her own kingdom could have produced—if she were to be frank.

She was not, in any way, belittling the skills of her own people, but the fact that the symbols that were forged onto the frame were alien to the ones she was familiar with simply proved her point. Though her people weren't unfamiliar with incorporating swirling flowers and majestic beasts into their clothing and furniture, the designs they often used weren't usually _this_ flashy and certainly _not_ this intricate and detailed. They thrived in simplicity and elegance, heartily believing that the bearer brings out the beauty of the thing and not the other way around. Beauty was achieved from within, and they strictly adhered to their unspoken dogma of both contentment and prosperity: to be at ease with what they have but not falling victim to the feeling complacency. The monarchs of Arendelle embodied that ideal through their own clothing and living quarters, hence, the reason why at first glance they seemed not much of a kingdom. Compared to the others, their castle was modest, reinforced only with the necessary security precautions and decorated finely enough to show the expected level of sophistication befitting of a royalty.

If she were to guess though, she would assume that the product came from the Brits since it was decorated with the usual artistic grandeur they were globally known for. But how did such a strange mirror end up underneath her pillow…?

Pressing her back against the wooden headboard of her bed, she thought back on the days before with the effort to remember where she could have received such a thing—but to no avail. Her thoughts were frequently disrupted by the fragments of her dream. Stupid man, stupid figment of her—oh… _oh!_ Her eyes went wide in recognition.

She got it from that silly old man from the market. She and Anna had escaped from their morning duties a few days ago for their usual tour around the kingdom to check up on the economical whereabouts of Arendelle as well as the overall well-being and lifestyle of the townspeople. The two had split up, with Anna teaming up with Kristoff and Sven, leaving her on her own as she went to the flea market. On her way there, she saw a wrinkly old man having a hard time pushing his stall. Pitying him, she offered to help, he refused her at first but soon gave up due to her stubborn insistence. Once he was settled, he gave her that mirror as his thanks. She tried to refuse but the old man just said, "A good deed's gotta be repaid, lass. Keep it. Who knows, you might see what you are looking for because of that." Ending his statement with a wink, he gave her a cryptic smile before he shooed her off so he could arrange his goods.

She really wasn't able to do anything after that. He wasn't having any of her nonsense, and although she was the queen, the man seemed to be a foreigner (judging from his accent and his overall physique) and thus, didn't know her.

Strange, she realized. Ever since she had the mirror, she remembered having weird dreams, though she mostly forgot about them whenever she woke up, but there were always a nagging feeling in her chest—as if she needed to remember something important but can't. It was an annoying and irritating feeling at the same time but she learned to deal with it over the course of the day.

She had even forgotten that she had received such a gift, let alone remembered where she placed it.

But seeing it now, she couldn't help but marvel at its beauty. It was a secondhand for sure, but it had its own antique allure. She couldn't help but feel like there's something quite… _magical _in this, though she really didn't know what.

She flipped the mirror and, with a yelp and a soundless thud on the carpeted marble floor, threw it across the air, making it land on the edge of her bed. Her heart palpitated sharply within her ribcage as her eyes widened with shock.

Because what she saw in the mirror wasn't her own reflection, but a reflection of a boy's.

And not just any boy, but the boy in her dream.

_**-x-**_

The house was more dilapidated than he originally thought.

Of course such an observation was made due to the huge hole that adorned on what supposedly was the roof, or lack thereof, thus allowing the moonbeams to stream down rather ethereally into the interior of the old abandoned structure. Jack might've found it a strange coincidence that it was shining blatantly onto an old Victorian mirror, but knowing that it was the Man in the Moon that led him there, he figured that the mirror might be more than what it seemed to be.

But still, what on earth was there to do with a mere mirror? He, as of the moment, had no practical use for it—unless of course it was to check out how incredibly handsome he had become. He wasn't much of a vain person though given that there was no human lass or lady spirit he was particularly romantically inclined to impress.

He _does_ appreciate his looks sometime though.

Placing his vanity aside, he couldn't help but let his facial expression morph into a sardonic one as a dry and sarcastic comment left his lips, "Seriously, Manny?" He let out an aghast sigh as he stared up at the moon, "I know I'm handsome and all but I don't _really_ need a mirror to know that." He huffed, shifting his weight on one foot as he leaned cockily onto his staff, "What I need is a friend, a _companion_. Not myself. Come on! Do you seriously think I want to become a Narcissus the second?" He grimaced, remembering how poor Echo did nothing but sob onto his ear as the millennium old nymph rambled on about her poor potential-but-never-did-become-to-be boyfriend.

And as if to prove his point, he picked up the said piece and peered at it, doing some sort of smoldering and a weird debonair imitation of what lady-killers would do—except that he never got to push through that because what met his gaze wasn't his reflection, but a reflection of a lady.

"_Great_." He groaned with that same sarcastic bite as he rolled his eyes with exhausted frustration at most probably himself.

Now what had he gotten himself into?

**Belated Merry Christmas~! (Especially to Karen-nee, AKA windstruck07, hope you like your gift! :D)**

**I abuse the word "rather" too much. (._.)**

**How do I look for a betareader? I'm shy. *le kries***

**I really don't know what to say. Lol. I'm just typing random things.**


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